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Friday, October 5, 2012

Makibaka

Hi folks, Maria here! I'd like to share a poem with y'all that I performed at a CalSLAM event called "Home is Where The Art Is." This piece is about the many struggles going on in the Philippines and what I hope to achieve as a poet and activist. I titled it, "Makibaka" which means "dare to struggle" in Tagalog. Hope y'all like!

I.Pi-li-pi-naSharp “p”Soft “i”sAnd a long, distinct “a”That rolls out from the back of your throatClick, clickYou type “Pilipina” into Google and what do you get?Mail order brides“Sexy Pinays!”“Pilipinas Seeking Foreign Men!”Dating sitesEroticized imagesScantily cladPosing for the foreign menWho desire the ideal, submissive brideI look at the photographsI look at my mamaI look at my grandmaAnd I look at meWe have the same black hairThe brown skinThe almond eyesAnd a face that takes you to7,000 tropical islands175 diverse dialectsAnd 2 cycles of colonialismThat have producedPovertyLandlessnessCorruptionViolenceA damaged countryII.My hair is short and brittleLike the children who live in squatter communitiesRunning around with just one slipperAnd rummaging in mountains of garbageFor their midday mealThey may be youngBut they are already breadwinnersTrying to feed, clothe, and sustain their familiesBecause their own country cannot sustain themMy eyes are dark and wideLike the capital becomesWhen the sun disappearsBelow the Metro Manila skyscrapersA city so large and brightBut the lights don’t stay onFor the people who need them mostThey flicker for the single motherTrying to raise her daughter in a tiny, windowless roomAnd the familyThat escaped the poverty in their provinceFound just a pinprick of lightEven though this cityIs full of bougie businessmen, politicians, and celebritiesMy skin is dry and roughLike the rivers that have stopped flowingAnd the crops that are no longer growingThey say life is hardBecause we don’t try hard enoughEven though my Papa works two jobsFrom 7 a.m. – 11 p.m.And my Mama raised three daughtersPractically by herselfThey like to blame us for our problemsEven though none of this would have transpiredIf they weren’t just greedy, capitalist bastardsGoldSilverCooperBananasCoconutsMangoesHow can a country so richBe unable to feed its people?How can 7,000 islandsNot really belong to a Pilipino?III.I asked my mama why they leftThe Philippines, and she said“Mahirap ang buhay”, Life was hardBut isn’t life hard here too?She said when she was my ageShe was beautifulI am the splitting image of my motherIt’s scary to gaze at a yellowing photographAnd see the same faceStaring back at meShe told me my grandma had to work hard tooShe had ten children to raiseSo she washed clothes, sold food, and did odd jobsJust to add some meat to the tableShe’s says I’m lucky that I don’t have to go throughWhat they went throughAnd that I should be happy growing up in AmericaThe land of opportunityI can’t tell my mamaThat I am not happyEspecially with my colonized bodyA body that used to wish she was tallerLighterFairerAnd blue-eyedA body that thought life might have been easierIf I had been born whiteAn awkward bodyThat doesn’t really fit intoThe archipelagoNor does it fitInto the fifty United StatesOf baseball, Uncle Sam, and apple pieI no longer want to haveA colonized bodyI no longer want to hateWhat my mama and grandma have given meAnd I longer want to remain naïve and apatheticTo the suffering and the fighting taking placeIn my countryThey say the first revolutionShould be within yourselfAwareness struck inside meLike lightningAnd I woke upFeeling the movement ofPeasantsFarmersWomenOverseas WorkersLike a splash of cool waterMy mama and grandma both believedThat a Pilipina’s place should not be in the background,The sidelines,Or behind a crowd of peopleRather, a Pilipina’s placeIs at the head of the struggleLike GabrielaLorenaNinotchkaAnd MelissaI am reclaiming my placeAt the head of the Philippines’s struggleTo end imperialismFeudalismAnd bureaucratic capitalismI will not stop untilThe land turns into a real homeThat will feed, clothe, and sustain its peopleAnd when the governmentFinally starts to spread loveInstead of lining the pocketsOf the rich and powerfulUntil you type PilipinaOn GoogleAnd get revolutionaryInstead of the ideal wifeI will continue to fightWith the strength of 7,000 islandsAnd the poetry of 175 dialects